15. Rowan
ROWAN
Samson drives us to one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in St. Dismas. Knowing the little I do about the Buckinghams, I’m not surprised by this.
The size of the house he parks outside of, though? That makes my mouth drop open.
“This looks like something out of a Gothic horror story.” I eye the enormous structure looming over us.
Countless mullioned windows are dotted through the gray stone walls.
A sweeping staircase leads to the front door, with large decorative vases on either side.
For some reason, one of them is filled with bright pink plastic flowers.
It’s the only spot of color on the dismal facade.
“I’m kinda expecting a ghost to jump out at us. It’s spooky.”
“Trust me, it is spooky, but the ones you need to be worried about are very much alive,” Samsons says darkly, scowling up at the house from beside me. “We don’t have to do this. Seriously. My family is…different.”
I chuckle, looping my arm through his. “I could use a little different. It’ll be a nice distraction.”
“You like those, don’t you?”
“I’m very mentally stable.”
He grins down at me, and it makes my heart flutter a little.
With Samson at my side, the darkness has receded. It’s still there, lingering at my heels, nipping every time I stop moving.
So I won’t stop.
I’m already planning on going straight to the studio from here. I don’t have a class tonight, but that’s okay. Derek, grudgingly, lets me dance whenever I need it.
Goes without saying that I’ve needed it a lot the past twelve months.
Samson takes a deep breath, rubbing at his short beard. “Okay, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
With those ominous words hanging in the air, Samson leads me into the Buckingham mansion.
“Oh!” My mouth pops open before curving into a big smile as I take in the foyer. “This is not what I was expecting.”
All the harsh lines and colors are missing here.
Plush sofas are fitted into tiny alcoves.
Tall white vases cascade with flowers along the walls.
Colorful rugs are dotted over the marble floor.
One of the walls is dominated by a large fireplace.
Logs are piled ready to be lit at the first sign of autumn.
“Wasn’t always like this,” Samson muses. “Wylder, my older brother, it’s technically his house now. He kept it as my father had it for a long time.”
“Your father’s dead?”
He nods.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says harshly. “His death was the best thing to happen for me and my brothers.”
“Oh well, in that case, I’m glad the fucker is dead.” My candor draws a surprised laugh from Samson. “What happened for Wylder to decide to make a change?”
“Neo happened. I’m sure you’ll meet him soon. He’s always around here somewhere. Lurking and watching. Come on. Let’s go find Jules. I’m starving.”
“Who’s Jules?”
“Matthias’s chef. Matthias is my brother,” he clarifies, seeing my confusion. “One of many. Technically Jules doesn’t work here, but we’ve all been spending more time here recently, so he has too.”
“Do you live here?”
“I have a house over on Fifth Street, but I keep rooms here as well.”
I give a low whistle. “Must be nice to be rich.”
He shoots me a wink. “Definitely has its advantages, and you’re about to experience the best one.”
Samson takes my hand and tugs. I try not to focus on how much calmer I feel when he’s touching me.
The kitchen he leads me into is bright and welcoming. A large island sits squarely in the center of the room. Big windows let in lots of natural light. A man with a messy mop of blond hair is whistling cheerfully as he flips what looks to be pancakes on the stove.
My stomach grumbles loudly at the delicious smells wafting through the air. The man—Jules, I assume—whips around at the noise. Delight shines in his green eyes as they sweep over me. “Samson! You’ve brought me a hungry guest. You know I love it when you do this.”
As if he’s not already one of the most attractive men I’ve ever set eyes on, Jules also has an accent to die for. French, if I’m guessing correctly.
“Hi.” I give him my trademark grin and wave my spare hand. Samson still has the other in a death grip. “I’m Rowan.”
“I’m Jules.” The chef sweeps forward to kiss both my cheeks. “Enchanté.”
Yep. Definitely French.
A new voice speaks from behind us. “I thought I was your favorite, and here you are, kissing another man.”
Jules’s face flames as he hastily backs away. He turns back to the oven, his shoulders stiff. “You know you’re my favorite Buckingham, Harley.”
I turn to see a tall man leaning against the doorframe.
Effortlessly beautiful, his dark curls are chaotic, like he’s been running his hands through them repeatedly.
A dark jacket is draped over his arm, leaving him in a half-buttoned white shirt.
His attention is fully fixed on the chef, who suddenly seems to be very busy.
A small divot appears between his brows as he stares at Jules. Studying him, wanting him.
After a few beats, his gaze slides to me. The frown is replaced by a smirk as he spots me. “Hello. You must be Rowan.”
My eyes widen. How does he know that?
Samson snarls and pulls me closer to him. “Behave, Harley.”
Harley laughs as he stalks to the stove.
He lounges against the counter beside it, casually placing himself within reach of the chef.
From how his eyes keep dipping in Jules’s direction every few seconds, I’m guessing his feelings toward him are anything but casual.
“Your little dancer is safe from me, Samson.”
Samson stiffens further, like he’s hearing something in Harley’s words that I’m not. “He’s safe, period.”
Harley’s smirk deepens. “Interesting.”
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Samson. “Am I in danger?”
“No.” He kisses my temple lightly. “You’re safer in here, at my side, than anywhere else in the world.”
I want to ask him more, like how his brother knows who I am and what I do, but before I can, several plates are appearing on the kitchen island.
“Sit,” Jules says with a flourish. “You must eat. I will be angry if you let them grow cold.”
“We don’t want you angry,” Harley teases, swatting Jules’s ass lightly as he passes. “We’ll behave.”
Jules gives a laugh that must be fake. I don’t even know the guy, and I can tell. “When do you ever?”
Harley’s face darkens as he watches the chef. Even Samson is frowning at him. Whatever is going on with Jules, this can’t be normal for him.
“Oh, look at the time,” Jules says, loosening his apron. “I need to get over to Matthias and Wyatt’s. I promised to be there for lunch.”
“They can come here,” Harley says, taking a step toward him. “They won’t mind. Especially with Row—”
“Non,” Jules snaps, cutting him off. Harley pales, his lips parting in shock. I watch, fascinated, as Jules cringes. He smooths away his ire and smiles brightly at Harley. “I mean, no. It’s fine. I want to go home.”
“Okay.” Harley’s face turns impassive as he folds his arms over his chest. “If that’ll make you happy.”
Jules’s wince is there and gone in a flash. “Yes. Tell Wylder I’ll be here for family dinner on Friday.”
With that, he scurries from the room. Harley’s jaw works as he stares at the door for a few moments. Then his long legs are eating up the distance, carrying him out after the chef.
“Well,” I say, breaking the silence. “That was…illuminating. I’m guessing something is going on with them?”
Samson grunts as he loads up my plate with pancakes. “Fuck if I know. I can’t keep up with the shit that’s going on around here.”
He pours syrup over the pancakes before adding several strawberries from a bowl. I hide my grin. A lucky guess, I’m sure. Samson has no way of knowing this is exactly how I like my breakfast.
“How many siblings do you have?” I ask, taking a bite of food and groaning loudly. “Fuck, this is amazing. Whatever Jules is being paid, it’s not enough.”
Samson hums in agreement. “I’ll mention it to Wylder.”
Wylder. That’s right. He’s the one who owns this place. “Is he the eldest?”
His head bobs. “Yeah. In answer to your earlier question, I have five brothers. Harley’s the youngest. Then there’s Matthias, Dalton, and Cade.”
I give a low whistle. “If you’re anything to go by, I bet you were all a handful growing up.”
Samson pauses with his fork in midair. “Something like that.”
He puts his head down and focuses on shoveling his food into his mouth as fast as he can. He doesn’t need to worry; the message has been received. I steer the conversation in another direction. “Are you all disgustingly good-looking?”
Samson’s nose wrinkles. “Fuck no. They’re all hideous trolls.”
I smirk. “I’m taking that as a yes, then.”
Suddenly my chair is being spun around until my knees are beside Samson’s. He drags me forward as much as he can.
“Are you hoping to fuck one of my brothers?”
His jealousy thrills me in a way it absolutely shouldn’t. After all, we aren’t anything to each other.
Are we?
Maybe we weren’t, but after Samson spent two days distracting me, followed by a night of holding me together…
Maybe we’re more than I’m ready to admit.
“I’m not looking anywhere else,” I answer honestly, my fingers sinking into his beard as I cup his jaw. “Can’t seem to stay away from this crazy guy who keeps showing up for me.”
Satisfaction gleams in his eyes. “Good. Make sure it stays that way.”
I’m about to ask him for how long, or what he’s thinking. But then I hear more footsteps. “You know, he’ll find it easier to eat if you let him face the counter.”
“Don’t think you’re one to talk since you’re literally carrying your boyfriend right now.”
I twist to see another ruggedly handsome man in the kitchen doorway. Sure enough, there’s a smaller guy in his arms, blushing furiously at being called out by Samson.
“Hi,” I say, directing my smile at him. Whoever he is, I instinctively want to ease his discomfort. “I’m Rowan.”
“Ansel,” he says quietly before tapping on his boyfriend’s arm. “You can put me down now, Cade.”
Cade glowers. “No. You hurt your ankle.”
“I’m fine,” Ansel sighs, wriggling as he tries to get down. Cade must have arms of steel because he doesn’t move an inch. “Titan, please.”
I smile at the cute nickname, and it only grows as Cade strides over to the stool next to mine and carefully lowers Ansel onto it.
“God, sorry.” Ansel offers me a rueful smile and extends a hand for me to shake. “These Buckingham men are one of a kind and stubborn as hell.”
I think back to last night and how Samson refused to leave. “Yeah, I’m getting that impression.”
Samson spears a piece of pancake with his dagger. When did he pull that out? “I’m not stubborn.”
There’s a long pause, and then all three of us burst into laughter. Cade points at his brother. “You’re the worst of all of us.”
“I’m fucking not,” he says. “Dalton’s more stubborn than I am.”
Another brother he mentioned earlier. I silently recite the names Samson just gave me once more.
Cade considers it. “Yeah, that’s true. Never seen anyone ignore what’s right in front of their nose quite like him.”
“Except maybe Harley,” Ansel says as he piles pancakes on his plate. “He’s just as bad. Where’s Jules? I thought he was here this morning.”
“He was,” Samson says. “Made all this then took off as soon as Harley appeared.”
“He’s been acting weird.” Cade ignores the plates of food in favor of pinching some of Ansel’s. “Been coming around less. Heard him and Harley arguing a couple of nights ago too.”
Samson blinks in surprise. “They never argue.”
“I know.”
Something passes between the two brothers that I can’t read. In fact, I’m struggling to keep up with the conversation at all. “Are the two of them…together?”
“No,” Ansel sighs. “The general consensus is that they’re into each other. What’s holding them back…none of us know. It’s a mystery for the ages.”
“We have a pool going, though,” Cade says. “I can add you to it, if you’re going to be around a bit longer.”
Cade’s eyes flick to Samson like he’s looking for him to confirm something. He gives a small nod, and butterflies erupt in my stomach. I press my hand there, willing them to stop. I don’t have time for happiness. I don’t deserve it. Last night was enough of a reminder of that.
Samson’s a fun distraction, and that’s all.